


Dead Body Disposal 101

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Angel Powers, Alternate Canon, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Trying to Impress Dean, Corpses, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark fluff, Dead People, Dean Being an Idiot, Dean in Denial, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Grave-Digging, Holding Hands, Jealous Castiel, M/M, Monsters, POV Alternating, Team Free Will, Third Wheel Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is gonna become a hunter. According to Dean and Sam, that means he needs to learn how to efficiently dispose of dead bodies. Cas is good at it, since he can use his power to help out when he needs to, but he comes to learn that 'being useful' doesn't always mean having a shovel in his hand or angelic spark in his fingertips. Sometimes it just means sticking around instead of leaving. </p><p>(Basically, monsters die and it's a backdrop for Dean and Cas being uncommunicative and holding hands. Alternative canon from season 4/5 era through to season 9.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [displacedsquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/displacedsquid/gifts).



> Written for the [2013 Dean/Cas Secret Santa Exchange](http://deancasxmas.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **Warnings:** All the grossness and squick that comes with dead bodies (which possibly counts as minor character death, too), including shapeshifter slime. Some implied past Dean/OMC.
> 
> My thanks to displacedsquid for the original prompt:  
>  _"Body disposal and cleanup are typically glossed over in the show. Give me a cracky or dark explanation of where the many casualties of Dean and Sam end up."_  
>  Apologies, I've never written something intentionally dark or cracky before and had no idea how to go about doing that, so this story is more along the lines of "mildly amusing with underlying romantic intent". Hopefully it still hits a mark close to where you were waving your target.
> 
> (Other acknowledgements will be added on AO3 after this challenge is over, since they would reveal my identity!)

“See this?”

Dean crouched and set a bare finger to the red stain on the werewolf’s chest. Flipping open the shreds of cloth around it, he pointed at the bullet wound, then looked up at Castiel, who nodded.

“That’s a good goddamn shot,” Dean said, nodding once as he stood up. “You did good.”

Castiel didn’t try to hold down his smile. A low, rising happiness began in his gut, tingles solidifying in his fingertips. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Ahh, don’t thank me, it’s just the truth.” Dean flapped a dismissive hand, then lowered himself again to kneel on the bloodied floorboards, looking around for something. “Hey, Sammy, pass me a knife, would you?”

Sam huffed and lumbered across the room, disengaging the silver knife from his belt and putting it into Dean’s hand, handle first. When Sam straightened again, his head almost bumped the sloping rafters of the attic.

Castiel observed in still silence as Dean hummed and made considerative sounds, eyes looking over the dead werewolf carefully. He seemed to decide something, then plunged the knife into the body, less than an inch from the bullet wound. It made a very wet, squishing sound.

Dean muttered to himself, his fingers becoming reddened by the creature’s blood as he dug around inside its chest, wriggling the knife about. Sam watched, sighing slowly.

“What are you doing?” Castiel eventually asked, when Dean began to cuss under his breath.

“I’m getting this bullet out,” Dean said, like it was obvious.

“They’re expensive,” Sam explained, and Castiel looked at him gratefully. Sam was more patient than Dean when it came to... well, everything. “If we lose one bullet, we have to make another.”

“At least if I dig it out, we can just melt it down and use the same metal again,” Dean added.

He let out a triumphant exhale as his fingers pinched out the shining red blob, which turned silver again as his thumb brushed away the blood. Dean grunted as he stood up, then tossed the bullet into the air, caught it, then pocketed it. Castiel eyed the blood on his hands, which Dean uselessly smeared from one hand to the other, lip wrinkled in disgust.

“Here,” Castiel said, taking a step forward and putting his hand on Dean’s bare wrist. The blood vanished, and Dean turned his hands over, looking at his pale palms in the moonlight that came from the circular window at the side of the attic.

“Thanks, man,” Dean mumbled. Then, more brightly, he turned to Sam and said, “Come on, let’s get this god-ugly sonofabitch into the trunk, go find a place to dump it. And then I want burgers.”

“There’s a diner by the motel,” Sam suggested, bending at the knees to grasp the werewolf’s body by its underarms. It looked almost human - white-skinned, male, aged in the early forties. But as Sam tugged, the creature’s fanged mouth dropped open and its head began to drag along the floor. Truly, it was not human at all.

Castiel watched with a pinpoint scrutiny, as fascinated by the brothers as he always was. They talked about the food and sleep they looked forward to enjoying - which, to Castiel, remained an ambiguous and rather peculiar theory. He had eaten once, and he had slept once, and Dean had told him time and time again that in not doing those things again he was missing out, but he still did not understand why either activity was worthy of anticipation.

Castiel felt alien, trailing behind the loping shadows of the two men as they hefted the werewolf’s carcass down three flights of darkened stairs.

“Run and get the tarp from the trunk, would you? It’s the big, baggy blue thing,” Dean said over his shoulder at Castiel, once they reached the entrance hall of the house.

“Why?”

“ _Because_ , Cas. If there’s neighbours around, they might think it’s weird that we’re carrying their friendly neighbourhood gardening contractor to the trunk of the car.”

Castiel frowned, standing unmoving at the foot of the stairs, eyes on Sam, who swiped a light sheen of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “No, I mean, why do you want me to run?”

Dean let the body sag, and he wheezed as he turned to face Castiel. “Don’t run then. Try a nice swagger, sway your hips,” he said, one side of his lips quirked.

“He’s being sarcastic, Cas,” Sam offered, wearing a small smirk. “I’ll get it if you can’t―”

Castiel mentally rolled his eyes, not waiting for the rest of Sam’s sentence before leaving the house in a thunderclap of downturned angel wings. He retrieved the plastic tarp without opening the car’s trunk, and returned to Dean and Sam within one second of leaving.

“―manage... it.” Sam closed his mouth.

Dean smirked, and even when he turned away to drag the dead body onto the tarp to cover it, Castiel knew he had impressed Dean. That made him feel just as pleasant as Dean’s vocal compliments did.

They set the security alarm, and locked the house once they were outside, which Sam explained would be a deterrent for nosy neighbours. Castiel did not understand what their nasal cavities had to do with anything, but nodded in any case.

It was a peaceful night, the sky with few clouds and fewer stars; insects trilled from the trees in the nearby park, and a single chihuahua yapped from the window of a bedroom across the street. The streetlamps lit everywhere except the place the Impala was parked; Castiel recognised that this was a strategic parking move on Dean’s part, in order to shelter their activity as much as possible.

They made it to the car and dumped the werewolf inside the wide trunk, making the entire car jolt on its framework. Castiel put their guns inside too, and then Dean pushed the lid down until it closed with a thump.

Castiel supposed they were close to making their escape, but then they simultaneously spied a neighbour approaching, and both brothers’ shoulders stiffened. Sam hid his hands behind his back, so the woman ahead wouldn’t see the blood.

The woman was tan-skinned, wearing house-slippers and a fluffy hot pink dressing gown, her shoulders bowed forward, weighed down by old age. Her makeup had been removed for the night, but when Castiel squinted, he could see a line of false eyelashes she had forgotten to remove. She stopped shuffling as she made the side of the car and looked carefully at the Winchesters.

“Hi there. Are you - friends with Roger?” she asked, a cautious smile on her wrinkled lips.

Castiel sensed that she had been exceptionally well-proportioned when she was much younger, with the kind of slender bone structure that Dean appreciated in his pornography. Now, however, Dean displayed no signs of human attraction, but of nervousness.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered her, bowing his head in considerative respect. “Just came out here to take this here dog away for him.” Dean patted the closed trunk of his car with his open hand. It thumped flatly, no longer hollow.

“Dog? Oh, I didn’t realise Roger had a dog.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam said. “Well, not any more. Poor thing... passed away tonight.”

“Oh! Dangit,” the woman said, slapping a wrinkled hand to her soft cheek. “M-May I see?”

Dean shot a hand across the car’s rear, blocking the woman’s prying hand. “I think he’d rather you didn’t, ma’am. He was mighty protective of her, almost like his kid, you know?”

“But I’ve never even seen him with a dog... Are you sure―?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam nodded softly, his lowered chin in sync with Dean’s to the beat. “She was pretty sick, these past few years. Didn’t like to leave the house.”

“Oh...”

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, gripping his utility jacket with a clench. Castiel didn’t understand the signal, but he knew it was significant.

The woman still had her hand on her cheek. “I ought to give him a look-in,” she muttered, eyes turning up towards the tall house that Dean, Sam and Castiel had just vacated.

“No!” Dean blurted, covering his haste with a charming grin, which prompted the neighbour to smile back. “That may not be a good idea. He’s a bit broken up about it, you know how it is. He probably needs, what―” he checked with Sam and shrugged, “two days grace? Three? Give him a mourning period before you start taking him cakes and... fancy baked goods, and waffles, or whatever. Yeah?”

The woman considered that, humming under her breath.

To hurry the interaction along, Dean reached out a hand and touched the woman’s arm gently. “He’ll be fine. He said he doesn’t feel like going to work for a few days either, so don’t panic if you don’t see him around. He’s probably just napping.”

Dean started to back away around the car. Sam gave the lady a strained smile, before retreating too.

“But,” she said, “what about that noise earlier, did you hear it too?”

Castiel thought he ought to participate. “Which noise?”

“A big bang! It sounded like a gunshot.”

“It was... most likely flatulence,” Castiel stated. He nodded decisively when the woman’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Yes. You ought to consume less foods containing lactose, you are mildly allergic. Also, your daughter knows who her real father is, she found him through the internet.”

“ _All_ right, buddy, time to go,” Dean said, striding up to Castiel’s side and grabbing him hard on the bicep, dragging him into the road. “Have a nice night, ma’am. Don’t mind him, he’s... uh.” Dean shook his head, then shoved Castiel into the backseat of the car, hand on the crown of his head so he didn’t bump it.

Castiel sat patiently as Dean closed the back door with a slam and muttered another farewell to the woman. Castiel met Sam’s reassuring smile from the front seat with an inexpressive stare, just waiting to move on.

Dean sighed as he fell into the driver’s seat, and shut his door with approximately twice as much force as he needed. He sighed again as he turned the car on, making the floor shake and the glass of the windows vibrate inside their metal frames.

Castiel watched the night-darkened road scroll past as the car pulled into the driving lane, which was empty apart from them. Then, in the rear-view mirror, he watched the old woman growing smaller where she stood alone on the sidewalk, staring in bemusement as they left.

“You...” Dean began, eyes catching Castiel’s in the mirror. “You should not be allowed. _Just_. I mean―”

“He did okay,” Sam said, talking to Dean while looking out of the window. “For a beginner, he did pretty well, actually.”

“But _flatulence_?! Did he seriously tell the old bat that a gunshot was actually a fart?”

Sam coughed up a laugh, but stifled it before it escaped his mouth. Castiel saw the tears of amusement in his eyes.

And then, after a while, he caught sight of Dean’s smile in the mirror.

Castiel had not failed.

● ● ●

The three of them stood on the apex of a bridge, the car idling close to the railing. The blue tarp dragged on the floor, but Dean still used it to protect his hands from making contact with the body. He stalled for a while in order to loot the man’s pockets; Castiel saw how carefully he touched clothing, unwilling to make complete contact.

Once all pockets were checked, Dean shot Sam an unctuous grin. Besides the flinty, unimpressed look Sam gave in return, the younger Winchester made no complaint about the cash notes Dean pocketed.

An owl hooted in the distance, calling for its mate. Castiel watched a single car’s headlights approaching from half a mile away, heading for the bridge. Its light stuttered out as it drove behind a copse of trees.

“On three,” Sam said, boosting half of the dead werewolf’s weight, while Dean struggled to balance the other half on his knee.

“One,” Sam adjusted his feet, letting out a steadying breath. The barrier of the bridge was at the height of his shoulders, so Castiel supposed it would be quite a feat for both of them to lift the body over. “Two.”

“Would you care for some assistance?” Castiel said blandly, calculating that they had less than thirty seconds before the driver of the approaching car saw the brothers disposing of a dead man into a river.

“N- No thanks,” Dean gasped, trying his best to heave the weight up past his stomach. “We got - _uhf!_ \- we got this...”

Castiel waited ten more seconds, blinking once as Sam gritted out, “Thrrrreeee,” but beyond an extra jump of energetic lifting, neither brother got their load much closer to the railing.

Castiel wondered if they actually realised that he had the ability to do what they were doing with only a single finger.

The nearing car bumped up the border between the deserted road and the bridge; they had no time to waste. Castiel supposed that they could thank him later. He stepped forward and poked the werewolf’s body with a fingertip, and it vanished. Dean almost collapsed at the sudden lack of effort he needed to stay upright, but Castiel’s hand was there to hold him steady.

“Where the - hell did you― What?!” Dean panted, frowning distractedly as the car drove past.

The car slowed down, the driver squinting at them in suspicion. Castiel invited the thought into their mind that this was merely a friendly altercation, and would be resolved with a manly embrace and the offering of a bottle of a chilled beverage. The driver drove on, increasing their speed.

“I transported Roger’s body into the Mariana Trench,” Castiel explained, letting go of Dean when he forcefully tried to escape Castiel’s firm grip. “It will never reach the surface, but be crushed by the pressure of the water, and following that, will be torn apart by a set of teeth belonging to a species of fish that humans have not yet discovered.”

Sam made an impressed sound. “Nice.”

“Huh.” Dean shucked his jacket on straighter. “Yeah, well. We weren’t having any trouble.”

Castiel supposed this was one of the times Sam had told him about, when Dean told unnecessary lies to protect his overinflated need to prove himself. Castiel inclined his head, eyes not leaving Dean. “I agree, you were succeeding. Only, I thought it was important to succeed faster.”

Dean scoffed, but Castiel did not miss the smile that he tried to hide with a frown. When Sam met his eyes too, Castiel saw him mouth a silent word: “Thanks.”

Castiel lowered his head in welcome, but rather than returning to the car, he waited on the sidewalk.

Dean paused as he set a foot in his car. “You not comin’ with?”

“I have matters to attend to in Heaven,” Castiel told him. It was not strictly true, but he did not see the appeal of joining the brothers for a meal he had no requirement to share. “I will return in time for my next lesson.”

Dean wasn’t smiling now. Castiel thought that meant he didn’t look forward to Castiel’s next lesson, and Castiel felt a reactive disappointment at that. Perhaps Castiel never should have asked to learn, and gone on observing the strange activities of the Winchesters _without_ prying them for questions and examples and demonstrations. As always, he had only wanted to achieve his means faster.

Dean lowered his head and eyes, licking his lips. “Uh. Okay,” he said, gruffly. “Sure.”

Castiel met Sam’s eye, searching for guidance, and Sam looked back pointedly. Castiel again did not understand the significance. Yet, he wanted to assure Dean of his own feelings on the matter, and so he said to him, “I look forward to it.”

And then Castiel left.

Certainly, he anticipated seeing Dean as much as Dean anticipated food and sleep. Perhaps even more so.


	2. Shapeshifter

“Dean, _stop_ ,” Sam complained, nearly whining. “That is _gross_ , okay, and totally not required.”

“Oh, it’s required all right,” Dean countered, a snide grin on his face. He cackled and prodded the peachy-white goop again, his eyes bright with mirth.

Castiel watched him. While he didn’t approve of the vile treatment of something that was once human, he was glad that poking the dead shapeshifter with a stick made Dean so happy.

“Look, it’s got bubbles in it,” Dean chuckled. “Cas, come poke this, it’s awesome. Bloop. Bloop. Bloop.”

“No thank you,” Castiel said. “It looks... um, disgusting.” He felt quite unwell.

“Suit yourself,” Dean snickered, proceeding to shove the end of the stick underneath the gloop so it trickled off in thick, lumpy lines.

Sam retched dryly and turned away, covering his eyes with a hand. Castiel could understand the distaste; if he too had a gag reflex, he might have reacted that way as well.

“Ugh, you two are no fun,” Dean said at last, once he realised nobody else was entertained. He threw the stick down to the bark chips, and set his hands against his lower back to stretch. “Let’s shovel this ooze into something and get it outta the way. As much as I like squishing it, I don’t think the kids who play here will.”

“On the contrary,” Castiel said, putting his hands into his coat pockets, “I think they might enjoy it too much.”

Sam retched again, and staggered off into the mist, towards the front gates bordering the playground.

“Well, let’s make this quick, then. What’s the time?” Dean shook his wrist to see his watch, but Castiel already knew the answer.

“It’s quarter to seven,” Castiel told him. “School children will be arriving soon, but teachers sooner.”

“Yeah.” Dean grimaced at the mess he’d made, as if only now realising that he’d been mucking around with something that was once a person with a face and a smile. Castiel had the letters of her name in his mind but he refused to arrange them, because he did not want to feel the loss that would come with knowing who she was.

He _felt_ a lot more than Dean thought he did. Castiel often considered that he might even harbour more unsaid thoughts than Dean himself, and Sam often mentioned to Castiel that Dean repressed more than he ought to.

Feelings hurt Castiel. So he tried not to feel them.

Dean handed Castiel a shovel, and wielded his own like a weapon. In his other hand, he flapped a black trash bag, waving it until some air rushed inside and opened it up. He set that on the bark chips, and then dug the tip of his shovel into the shapeshifter’s remains.

“Is Sam not going to help?” Castiel asked, as he tentatively scooped up a shovelful. The off-white semi-solids dribbled from the sides of the shovel, then leveled off, acting as if its contents were liquid.

“Sam’s...” Dean looked up, then looked back down. “Indisposed.”

Castiel could hear the sound of Sam emptying his stomach somewhere closer to the car.

Castiel helped Dean fill the thick plastic bag with shapeshifter, but dared not say a word about her. The shifter who took her skin was nothing like her in reality.

“You know,” Dean uttered, his forehead lined with his frown, “they don’t all turn to mush when you gank them. Some die like people do, and somewhere out there, the original person whose body they copied would still be alive. I kinda wish this was one of those ones.”

“I wish that too,” Castiel said, eyes on Dean’s boots, which were speckled with shiny dots of liquid. “It would’ve been better if we’d saved her.”

Dean sighed, not caring that he was throwing pine chips as well as shifter into the open bag. “Yeah.” He gulped. “But it’s not much of a lesson for you if we score a hundred on every hunt. We don’t save everyone. That’s... That’s the fact of it. We fail sometimes.”

He seemed upset. Castiel wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how.

He had the ability to change what happened, save the woman, but Dean was correct. Not everyone could be saved.

Together, they scraped the last of the mess into the bag, their breath escaping in forced clouds of air. Then they used their shoes to kick pine chips back into the empty dirt, so there was a disturbance in this general area of the playground, but nobody would be able to tell that one of their teachers was killed on this spot.

“Got the bullet,” Dean muttered, lifting it between two fingers.

He eyed the metal shape with an expression of extreme disgust, as a thin strand of oozing liquid slid off and into the bag. The bullet was not flattened like the one from the werewolf, merely empty of gunpowder; it had entered the shapeshifter’s soft body too easily to damage the casing.

“Gross,” Dean sighed, shaking his hand and then dropping the bullet into a pocket. “C’mon, let’s beat it. I’m not having this crap in my car for any longer than it takes to dump it out.”

“Where would you like to leave it?”

Dean shrugged, wrapping a hand around the neck of the bag, tying it up like a balloon. “Anywhere. Don’t care.”

Castiel watched him start to drag the bag. He was unsure why Dean didn’t simply ask him to make the body vanish, as he was perfectly capable of doing so.

Not long passed before Castiel discovered he couldn’t abide the scuff of pine chips it left in the bag’s wake, nor the fact that the plastic was in danger of tearing. It was too difficult to lift for Dean, so Castiel helped without being asked.

“Gee, Cas,” Dean said, grinning a little. “We oughta have you on more hunts, that’s a real gift you have there.”

Indeed, Castiel’s ability to float bags full of liquid across playgrounds without touching them was a blessing.

They put the bag into the trunk of the car, mindful not to let any of the guns or knives puncture it as they closed the lid. Dean checked his wristwatch again, then the sky.

“Sunrise,” he said.

Castiel paused for a moment, gaze turning to the sky. He watched the sun come up from behind the horizon of the school building, warming the mist and sparkling off the roof of the car and into his eyes. He found it beautiful.

He looked over at Dean, who was also watching the light, eyes wrinkled against the low glare.

Being touched by a beautiful dawn, Castiel supposed that Dean was also beautiful. For the first time, that feeling was more than an objective, theoretical one. Castiel felt a passionate appreciation for more than just God’s work, but for the person that Dean was, and how the fine shape of his face and the set of his shoulders represented his inner beauty well.

Dean took a small breath, held it, then lowered his chin. Turning his head, he cast a single indecipherable look in Castiel’s direction - not sad, not happy, but emotional on some level. Castiel couldn’t place it at all. But the moment for translation had passed, and Dean had ducked into the driver’s seat beside Sam. They were waiting for Castiel now.

Castiel opened the back door and sat in the centre of the leather seat, hands on his knees. Dean revved the engine, and they drove out of the school gates. Sam exited the car to close the gates behind them, but he was not able to fix the padlock they’d broken when they entered.

When they drove away, Castiel turned and gazed through the back window, seeing the sun start to shine on the playground. With a thought, he fixed the lock.

● ● ●

“Here, pull over here,” Sam instructed. Dean did as he said, then got out of the car when Sam did.

Dean knocked twice on the back window, and Castiel transported himself to the rear of the car, standing up.

“She has doors, you know,” Dean groused, popping the trunk. He scowled as he saw that the bag of shapeshifter had leaked. “Aw, goddamn it. That had better scrub out, or I swear to God...” He muttered curses to himself, all of which Castiel knew were empty threats. Even so, the words made it clear that Dean was extremely unhappy about having the particles of a dead body smeared on his car.

“Sammy, give me a hand with this,” Dean grunted, gesturing to his brother.

Sam had his head down against the side of the car, obviously queasy. “Ngghhh.”

“God, you’re totally useless,” Dean said under his breath. “Come on, it’s just a dead chick. It’s like she went through a blender, no big deal.”

“Frughhhh,” Sam groaned.

Castiel waited patiently for Dean to ask for his help instead.

Dean gave up trying to lift the bag, because every time he lifted it, it trailed out more gloop through the hole. “God _damn_ it.”

“Dean,” Castiel said softly, reminding Dean of his presence.

Dean turned his gaze on him and harrumphed. “What? What’re you lookin’ at?”

Castiel said nothing, because Dean was looking at _him_ , so he already knew what Castiel was seeing. Dean’s eyes were wonderfully green in the early morning light, even greener than the grass at the side of the road.

Cars rushed along behind Castiel, blustering the tails of his coat with the force of their passing. Dean just stared, lips parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Castiel waited, happy to watch Dean thinking.

Sam grunted. “Jesus, Cas, just help him. I need coffee and food; this is taking too long.”

Castiel checked with Dean, but Dean turned his face away, hand releasing the bag. It slumped over, but Castiel didn’t wait to let it collapse before he lifted it with his power. He held his hands under it, so if any passing drivers or passengers were to see him, it would look like he was carrying it.

“Over there, on the grass,” Dean said, waving vaguely. “Just open it up and pour it out. If anything, it’ll do the grass some good.”

“The local fauna will find it nutritious as well,” Castiel added. Sam made a very upset noise.

Dean pointed at a patch of grass, and Castiel skimmed a hand across the bag and the knot came undone with a scrunch of plastic.

He carefully tipped the back upside down, and the liquid inside flowed in a sticky wet river of slime into the grass, pooling and sinking into the Earth. It left a lumpen residue on the surface, coating the grass stalks with chunks.

Dean hiccupped, then turned away and gagged.

Castiel let the empty bag land on the grass, unsure what to do with it.

“You done? Let’s go,” Sam said, biting out his words around a groan.

“And the bag?” Dean coughed. “I’m _not_ putting that back in the car.”

Sam sat down in his carseat heavily. “Forget it, let’s drive.”

“No way,” Dean said. “You heard Cas, there’s critters around here. They get suffocated by bags and stuff. You saw that news feature too, asshat.”

Sam huffed in a sickly way, both hands over his pale, sweating face. “Since when do you care about animals?”

Dean seemed highly affronted. “When have I _not_ cared about animals? Actually, don’t answer that. The gerbil wasn’t my fault. And anyway―”

Castiel interrupted Dean by stepping on the bag and dispersing it into nothingness. Dean’s mouth hung open, halfway through a word.

Dean closed his mouth. “Huh.”

“Great! Problem solved! Now let’s _go_ before I start puking up my stomach lining,” Sam snapped, hair bunched into frantic hands.

Dean smiled fleetingly at Castiel, then passed him on his way to the car.

Castiel considered helping Sam feel less nauseous with a touch of angel grace, but knew that once they were driving away, he would feel better.

But they didn’t drive.

Dean rolled down the window, and looked curiously out at Castiel. “Are you coming?”

“The lesson is over, is it not?”

Dean looked at the puddle by Castiel’s feet, then out at the road ahead. “Uh. Well, yeah. I guess. But...”

“It was a good lesson,” Castiel said. “Thank you.”

Dean lowered his chin, unformed words not leaving his mouth. His fingers tapped on the rim of his car’s window.

Sam started to complain again, so Castiel thought it was best to leave. He turned invisible, but remained standing where he was.

Dean eventually looked up, taking a breath to speak, but when his eyes fell on the space Castiel was standing invisibly, the words never came out.

Castiel thought for a moment that Dean looked sad, but he only had a second to observe that before Dean’s face became a flat mask of expressionless nothing, jaw set tightly, eyes on the road as he cranked the handbrake.

Castiel fixed the grass when Dean’s car tyres left a mark. And then he vanished, because the Impala was now nothing but a shiny shape a hundred feet down the road, and it was time to leave.

He felt like something had been missing this time. He didn’t know what it was.


	3. Wendigo

“Ohhhhkay, that’s not good,” Dean said slowly and warily, backing away. Sam gripped his jacket tightly, trying to keep him from running.

“It’s not too bad,” Sam breathed, tilting his head quickly. He knew it was a lie.

Fire began to spit, jumping like a hundred fleas into the dry leaves that surrounded the fallen wendigo. The smell of gasoline was tart on Sam’s tongue - he loved the smell on a good day, but the heat he could feel even from a distance of ten feet led him to believe this was not a good day.

The wendigo was dead, but it wouldn’t be long until he and Dean were, too.

“I swear, if they arrest us for accidental arson or something, I’m going to stick you on a pyre myself,” Dean snarled, words breathy due to honest fear.

“I thought it would just... burn!” Sam said, gesticulating at where the flames spread further, crackling and searing blackness into the forest floor. “I figured the thing would just go up in smoke and die and we’d be fine, not... not this. Oh God, it’s coming closer. Quick―”

“What should we do, should we pee on it?”

Sam scoffed. “It’s too far gone for that―”

“Maybe call some firefighters?” Dean patted at his pockets, putting the tank of gas down to retrieve his cellphone. He looked at the screen, empty hand open by his shoulder. “No signal. Ah, crap.”

“This is... this is the part where we run, right?” Sam asked weakly. “This whole forest is going to burn.”

They were backing up, Dean hastily darting forward again to retrieve the gasoline before the fire got it.

“I feel so guilty right now,” Dean breathed. “And this ain’t even my fault, you’re the one who threw the matches.”

“You threw the gas!”

“You told me to!”

Sam rolled his eyes, grasping the back of Dean’s jacket again, fear lending him the need to keep his brother close. “If Cas was still here, we wouldn’t have this problem. He’d have just smote the stupid thing and we wouldn’t have had to burn it.”

Dean made a pained noise. “Yeah, well! It’s not like I told him to up and leave, he just flew off. He does that a lot, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

A tree burst into flame, orange tongues licking up its trunk in an instant, turning its leaves to shaking torches. Even in the clouded daylight, hazy and freckled by the trees overhead, the fire was as bright as a sun, spreading and glowing and getting bigger the longer Sam and Dean lingered.

Sam was panting, and Dean was trembling, but neither knew what to do. Leaving didn’t seem like an option, not while they knew they’d caused such destruction. Watching this fire was horrifying. It ate and scorched a living part of the Earth into emptiness, leaving it glowing hot, with a black layer over dead soil. Sam hated seeing it, because fire had already taken away so much from him and Dean, he didn’t want to be the cause of another loss like this.

Too late. It was happening, and it was happening fast.

“I don’t―” Dean whimpered under his breath. “I didn’t want him to go, okay? I wanted him to stick around and drink coffee, but he―”

“What? Dean, why are you telling me this _now_?!” Sam squawked, leaping away from a drifting sizzle of flame that he hadn’t noticed creeping up on him. “Just shut up and pray to him!”

“But he’s busy, he’s doing important angel stuff. He wanted hunter lessons or whatever―”

“This _is_ a lesson! How _not_ to hunt! Don’t pour gas and throw matches on flammable forests!”

Dean sighed, kicking his foot at a curious flame that tried to tickle his toes. The flame fritzed and smoked out, but another took its place, and Dean was forced to scamper back. Sam’s view ahead was all fire, spitting and pouring off sweaty fumes, singed dirt and plant life smoking furiously.

Dean was still hesitating.

“Dude, just call him,” Sam said, hitting Dean in the side. “He won’t answer me, he’s _your_ angel.”

Dean’s nostrils flared, but he was too distracted to react with a blush and a forced denial, like he had the last time Sam had insinuated that Cas was overly attached to Dean.

Then Dean stood quietly, and stopped kicking at the fire. Sam stopped kicking it too, needing a moment to catch his breath and wonder why Dean looked so empty-eyed and forlorn.

“I... Look, if I call him, he’s just going to put out the damn fire and then flap off like he always does. I really hate that, okay?!”

“Which would you rather: another week with a broken heart, or a lifetime living with the fact that we are currently burning down an entire _freaking_ forest?!”

Dean seemed to wrestle with that one for longer than Sam thought he would. Sam had to consider therefore that Dean was more hurt by Castiel’s absence than he let on.

Dean’s logic made no sense to Sam. Dean missed Cas, therefore he did not want to see Cas because he would miss him again? That was a ridiculous reason to avoid saving trees.

So Sam rolled his eyes to the sky and let out a long, slightly smoky breath. “O Castiel, who art in― somewhere. We pray that you meet us in Nebraska National Forest, somewhere in the east corner. If you can’t find us right away, try following the smoke. We kind of started a fire and we have no means to stop it. Please help. Amen.”

Dean folded his arms, still inching back from the fire. “Yeah, like that’s gonna work. He only turns up if one of us is about to die or we’re gonna give him a lecture on monster killing.”

“You gotta admit, those are pretty nice reasons to show up,” Sam shrugged. “Maybe one of us should jump in the fire and give him a proper incentive.”

“I vote you. I ain’t being the damsel, I already did that this week.”

“The dress did suit you,” Sam joked. Dean laughed uncomfortably, eyes shooting away.

They waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes.

And the fire only grew.

Sam shook his head. “He’s not coming. Just deal with it, Dean. He only answers you.”

“Why!” Dean burst out.

“You know why!” Sam shouted, a hand thumping Dean on the shoulder. “Just call him!”

Dean fretted some more, hands raking back through his hair. “Fine. _Fine_.”

It took him another few seconds to either work up the courage or find the words, Sam didn’t know which.

“Dear Castiel. We hope you’re having a nice time, out in the world or in Heaven, smiting or sunbathing or whatever it is you get up to when you’re not saving our asses or―”

“Dean, paraphrase.”

“We’re in danger and a lot of squirrels may start roasting unless you get here pronto, so please... please just...”

“I’m here.”

Dean seemed to deflate as Castiel swished past in an ominous disaster of tan trenchcoat and wild, dark brown hair. His eyes were as intent as anything, his hands swift and steady as he raised a palm to the blaze: stop.

The flames all spluttered at died at once, and the forest was left quiet, not even smouldering.

Out of the blackness, grass grew. Trees blossomed, flowers sprang from nothing, every one of them six months out of season. Springtime descended upon this small patch of the planet, and Sam stared in wonder as the sun broke through the clouds and shone directly on this single spot, but nowhere else. It sparkled.

“Well, that was a dick slip if I ever saw one,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Totally unnecessary.”

“But it _was_ impressive,” Castiel said, wearing a perfectly straight face - although, he had that playful twinkle in his eye that gave away his true thoughts on the matter.

“It was,” Sam confirmed. Dean had a wobbly smile on his lips.

“To be clear,” Castiel’s eyes went from Dean to Sam, “I did this for the squirrels.”

Sam nodded, lips pursed tightly. “Of course. Squirrels.”

“So, uh,” Dean coughed, adjusting his footing, making an aborted move to cross his arms, “the wendigo. Guess it’s resting in peace, right?”

Sam started forward, heading for what had now become an Eden-like clearing. His shoes edged the grass, and with a childlike laugh of delight, he took a step into it, loving that he was the first person to ever step into this particular miracle. Well, with the exception of the deceased once-human monster in the centre of the patch, that is.

“It will fade into nothing,” Castiel assured Dean, voice carrying from where he stood on the dry leaves. “Disintegrate, turn to soil. The worms will be very happy.”

“It’s one ugly blight on your landscape, though,” Sam heard Dean say. “Scenery’s kinda nice. Wouldn’t want a picnic here, what with the dead body and all.”

Castiel eventually figured out that was a compliment. “Thank you.”

Sam made a point of moving further into the new land, giving Dean and Cas some privacy. Dean knew what he had to do, what he had to say to his friend, and Sam dearly hoped he would say it.

Sam hid behind a tree, listening hard. Privacy was overrated anyway.

“Look, Cas...” Dean started.

Castiel was silent; Sam imagined he was playing with a flower or making a dead twig bloom with foreign petals.

Dean’s breath caught, but once his anxiety settled, he continued, “So, you’re, um. Having fun? Up in Heaven?”

“If you’d prefer to think so, then yes.”

Dean hesitated again. “Are you busy? Or...?”

Oh, come _on_ , Sam thought. Out with it!

“I keep myself occupied,” Castiel said, picking his words carefully.

Dean began again. “Great. Um, okay. So this is... um...” He let out a frustrated breath, then stopped speaking.

Sam turned around the tree trunk to peek at the other two: Dean was pacing, a hand rubbing at the back of his head. Castiel was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching him.

Dean stopped pacing suddenly, a hand held out to Castiel. “You. You haven’t been here in a while.”

“Two months, I believe.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of a - long time, don’t you think?”

Castiel tilted his head, toying with the theory. “Time is relative.”

“Of course it is,” Dean sneered, turning away. Sam could see the worry on his face though - and then, he saw the exact moment when Dean realised he _had_ to spit his words out, or he would be left hurting again. And he did look hurt, eyes down, mouth a little agape, turned down at the corners. Even the sunshine on his face didn’t seem to brighten him.

“Cas,” Dean said, shoulders slumping, still turned away from Castiel. “I―” Dean shut his eyes. “Look, man, I missed you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raised, his eyes widening and starting to shine. “I missed you too, Dean.”

Dean’s mask broke into a weak smile, eyes shutting tighter as he tipped his chin to his chest. “Yeah. Are you - going to leave again? ‘cause, if you have angel stuff to do...”

Castiel stood quietly for a few seconds, then his mouth opened so he could speak. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “ _God_ , no, I don’t.”

Castiel took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders. The greening trees around him seemed to breathe with him, leaves curling on a breeze.

Dean turned around, arms swinging. “Will you stay?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

Castiel looked at Dean’s face carefully. He’d spoken in complete honesty; Sam and Castiel both knew the desperation in his tone.

Castiel began to smile. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

Dean saw the smile and understood Castiel’s answer. He chuckled, bending his head as he showed happiness, far more contained than Sam thought he really felt. His hands slid back through his hair, and he sighed in relief.

And then Dean and Cas met each other’s gaze, and their smiles widened.

Dean turned away, now completely filled with the sunshine, and with the beauty of Castiel’s garden. Sam grinned, glad to see him so pleased.

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean called into the forest. “How’s about pizza for dinner? Maybe watch a movie?” He looked to Cas, and much quieter, he said, “You can pick the movie, buddy. You earned it.” He sauntered past, bumping Castiel on the arm in congratulations as he went. “Thanks for saving our hides, by the way.”

“I told you,” Castiel said, hurrying after Dean as he turned away, “I did it for the squirrels.”

Sam heard Dean’s laugh begin to echo as they headed back to the car. “Sure you did, buddy. Squirrels.”

Sam followed at a distance, watching the two figures meandering close to each other far ahead, through the stippled light under the trees. Their shoulders were brushing, and Dean was bouncing on his feet. That wordless expression of welcome made Sam simmer with joy. Dean wasn’t the only one looking forward to having Cas tag along.


	4. Vampire

“Thanks Bobby. Yeah,” Dean nodded, meeting Sam’s eye while he pointed down the moonlit road. The phone held to his ear was unlit, as the call had gone on for so long. “Yeah, it’s cool, we’re there now. All right. Yeah, thanks a million. Bye.”

Dean thumbed his phone and ended the call, then sighed and looked out of the windscreen, body hunched forward so he could see the building Sam had parked in front of. “Guess this is it.”

Castiel looked at the sign from where he sat in the back seat. “‘Fremont Pet Cremation Services’.”

“Another hunter,” Dean explained, opening the passenger door and getting out on the roadside.

Sam got out too, stretching his arms behind his back. Dean yawned, running his hand over his tired eyes. Only Castiel wasn’t tired, and really, he ought to have driven them tonight, but Sam hadn’t finished teaching him how to drive yet. Dean refused to teach him, claiming that when Castiel did anything wrong it stressed him out to the point where his hair started turning grey. Sam thought he was imagining it until Dean actually showed him grey hairs.

Tonight the weather was on the warmer side of mild, and the fresh air made it easier to wake up. Dean went straight for the trunk of the car, checking both ways along the road before he popped it open. The road was desolate, since it was three in the morning, but they still had to be cautious.

Sam went ahead and knocked on the glass door, seeing an orange light on beyond the first corner. The glass had letters printed to it, showing the company’s opening hours.

A weary face came into view, bold eyebrows and high cheekbones, with skin of the colour of a perfectly well-stirred chai latte. Sam wasn’t into dudes at all, but he was certainly taken aback by how attractive this man was, even beyond the fatigued bags under his eyes. The glass door unlocked, and the man gave Sam a plain smile.

“Babby sent yeh?”

Sam nodded, ducking into the shop when gestured, then walking through the corridor so he wasn’t in the way. It smelled like coal in here. “You’re Morris?”

“Marris,” the man corrected. “Marris or McGee, take your pick.”

“And you’re a hunter.”

“Body disposal,” Marris corrected again. “I’m no good at huntin’ like the rest of yeh but I’m not some gammy muppet, alright? I’m good where I am.”

Sam nodded in acceptance, blinking a few times. This man prompted Sam to raise a low internal barrier of caution, mostly because of his disarming accent in conjunction with with his sharp-moving eyes. In the gentle buzz of the florescent lights from above, Marris seemed to move on his feet smoothly - too smoothly. Sam thought he was attractive and helpful, but he didn’t trust him.

Sam’s gaze shot to Castiel as he entered, with a weighted plastic bag in hand: that was the vampire’s head. Following him, Dean slunk into the shop with a grunt, dragging the black body bag containing the rest of the vampire.

“Ugh, little help here?” Dean wheezed, straining to get the body over the threshold.

Sam watched Castiel go up to him and lift the body with two hands, as easily as if he were lifting a shoebox.

Dean straightened with a sigh as he reached the front desk. He saw Marris stick a thin cigarette between his lips, and immediately an enormous grin broke out on his face, tightening wrinkles around his eyes. “Heeey, man. Long time no see.”

They knew each other?!

Marris strode up to Dean and clapped him on the back. “Better than ever. Eh. You’ve got yourself a class buck, there,” he added, giving Sam an upward nod. “Where’d you get that one?”

Dean balked, mouth opening wide. “What?! Christ, Marris, that’s my brother.”

Marris raised his eyebrows, and his gaze skipped over the room to Castiel, whose shoulders were as tense as the brick wall he was looking up at, observing the certificates and advertisements pinned there. “And that one?”

“That’s...” Dean swallowed, eyes lingering on Castiel’s turned back. “That’s Cas.”

“And what’s he, then? Not human.”

“Angel,” Dean said quietly, smiling as he looked away.

“Alright, that. That’s grand.” Marris clapped Dean firmly on the back. “Knew ye’d get yourself a good-lookin’ fella.”

Dean bit his lip, and Sam was almost horrified to see that he was blushing, eyes on the floor. Marris’ arm was slung around his shoulders.

Sam cleared his throat very loudly and pointedly. “We have a vampire to burn,” he reminded the others.

“Aye!” Marris leapt off Dean, unlit cigarette between his fingers, and ambled over to the side of the room. There, a huge area was barriered off with steel grating, beyond which something big hummed. “Aye, I got the clanker running up for ye. Toss me the stiff, she’ll eat it up.”

Dean moved right away, hands on the body bag to unzip it. The headless corpse let out the stench of blood, which no longer bothered Sam at all. Castiel was still holding the bag with the head in it, eyes turned over his shoulder to watch Dean drag the rest of the vampire towards the incinerator.

When he and Marris were both behind the corner, Sam heard them communing.

Curious, he followed them around the corner. Marris caught his eye, and the smile he’d been wearing fell away. Dean saw that, and looked back at Sam. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Am I... interrupting something?” Sam asked, glancing at the incinerator. It looked like a giant oven, about the height of Sam himself, and just as wide. Heat was rolling off it in incredible amounts, but most of that heat was sucked through a pipe and fed back into the box, as far as Sam could see. There had to be more to it, but he was too distracted by the fact that Dean and Marris hadn’t answered him.

“You know what, I’ll... I’ll wait back here,” Sam said, backing away with a thumb pointed behind him. “Take your time.”

He left and went to stand beside Castiel, staring unseeing at the posters tacked to the wall.

Castiel broke the silence between them, speaking over the mumble of words coming from around the corner. “Dean and this creature had some form of romantic entanglement, I gather.”

Sam swallowed. “You think so?” He paused. “Wait, what? What creature?”

“Marris,” Castiel said, with a frown. “He’s a witch.”

Sam sucked in a long breath, cold at the bottom of his lungs. “Oh.”

Castiel swallowed, giving off a very human vibe of discomfort and upset.

“Cas... you okay?”

Castiel took a small breath, looking down. “I honestly don’t know. I feel something vile.”

Sam put a careful hand on the elbow of Castiel’s trenchcoat. He understood what Cas felt, but he knew they felt it for different reasons. Sam’s dislike of the man was most likely more irrational than Castiel’s dislike.

“Does Dean know?” Sam asked, mostly to himself, but also to Castiel. “That Marris is a witch, I mean.”

“Obviously I know,” Dean scoffed, coming back into the main room, trailing the empty body bag. “Hey, hand me that head, would you? Gotta throw it in with the rest.”

“This bastard’ll be swept out with the dirt later on this morning,” Marris said, slumping against the front desk, lips only just holding his loose cigarette in place. “Nobody’ll ever know.”

Castiel didn’t hand over the head. Dean grasped at mid-air, a frown starting to grow on his face. “Cas, pass the head. It’s barbecue time.”

Castiel actually took a step back.

“For God’s sake, Cas, stop being a baby. Marris is a good guy. Not everything supernatural-related is bad, or have you forgotten that?”

Castiel stared Dean down, harsh and unrelenting.

Their staring contest went on for so long that Sam huffed in annoyance and snatched the bag out of Castiel’s hand. “Here! Goddamn it, Dean, take the stupid head. I’ll be in the car, join me when you’re done with your cockfight.”

He charged past Castiel and down the entrance hall, stalking out into the night, then to the car.

He wasn’t expecting Castiel to come after him, leaving the door to thump a second time as he exited moments after Sam.

Sam turned, halfway to the car. “What’s up?”

Castiel turned his head furiously to the closed glass door, then down the empty road.

Sam shook his head and carried on walking. He made it to the car’s nose before Castiel zapped ahead of him, leaning on the door Sam was about to open.

“Uh,” Sam said, awkwardly.

Castiel’s jaw was set firm. “I think I’m jealous.”

Sam smirked quickly, but worked to hide it. “No kidding.”

Castiel sighed and looked away again. He clearly wanted to talk, but like Dean, he suffered from a toxic traffic jam within his ability to communicate, combined with an unwillingness to let someone stand there and wave his words through with a baton. Seemingly, those traits were not limited to humanity.

With a sigh, Sam rested his ass against the side of the car too, hands in his pockets. “Jealousy’s normal, Cas. It’s not healthy, but it’s normal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“No, no. I know. But it’s not Dean’s fault. Obviously Marris is someone from his past, I don’t know what they’re like now, but―”

“Did you know Dean liked men?” Castiel cut in sharply.

Sam took a shallow breath, unsure how to reply, since he wasn’t sure if he could truthfully answer yes or no. “Did you?”

Castiel scuffed his shoes on the road. “Yes.”

Sam nodded. “It was always vague speculation for me, but yeah, I think I did know.”

Castiel was very quiet, head bowed. In the moonlight, he seemed washed-out, his stubbled jaw nothing but blue shade. Sam wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

“You’re sticking around?” Sam asked him, bumping his side with his elbow.

“I promised Dean I wouldn’t leave when I got upset.”

“I know. But this is different. I think you maybe might need some space from him―”

“I don’t need space,” Castiel snapped. “I joined you last year because I wanted to be with him. You. Both of you. And Dean was right. If I leave every time I need ‘space’, that space ends up between myself and him. I’m sick of that void between us.”

Sam absorbed those words resolutely; they were the most concise things Castiel had said about his relationship about Dean for a long time.

“What do you want from him, Cas?”

Castiel shut his eyes. “I don’t know yet. I’m still learning.”

Sam rested his side along Castiel’s, offering peace. Castiel pushed back, accepting it.

Sam expected to be waiting an age for Dean, but in the end it only took another ten minutes before he exited the shop. Sam had been watching the smoke billowing out of the roof’s big chimney, but now he watched Dean cross the road, the bow of his legs more pronounced due to high spirits. He was smiling hugely.

“Hey,” Dean said, flipping the car keys in his hand. He unlocked the driver’s door, and sat down inside.

Sam resigned himself to an uncomfortable drive, possibly filled with questions he didn’t want to know the answer to but would ask anyway.

He sat beside Dean, and Castiel sat in the back, not using the door handle but transporting himself inside.

Dean was still grinning as he revved the engine and left it idling. “All right, where next? Motel? Or sleep in the car?”

Castiel sighed forcefully.

Sam glanced at Dean, who had taken the map from the glove compartment and was flipping it back and forth, trying to find exactly where in Fremont they were.

“Dean,” Sam said.

“Mm?”

Castiel sighed, louder this time.

Sam cleared his throat and poked Dean in the thigh. When Dean glanced up, Sam flicked a finger towards Castiel. Dean looked back at the angel, and it took him a few seconds of blank-faced, open-mouthed thought, before his eyes crinkled at the sides and he smirked a little.

“So, Cas,” Dean said, turning back to the map, smiling. “What did you think of Marris?”

Castiel made the wheels deflate, and the car dropped ten inches closer to the road.

Dean didn’t even look up from the map. “Fix it or I’ll behead you too.”

The car slowly inflated back to normal height.

Dean turned the map over, running a finger down the numbered index inside the back cover. “He saved my life about ten times, just so you know. We hunted together for a bit.”

The tape player between Dean and Sam’s seat exploded into smoke.

Dean only had to sigh and flip the map over, and the tape player fixed itself.

“He’s also gay,” Dean said.

The tar under the car melted, and Sam rolled his eyes as they sank another inch before jamming solid into the re-solidified road.

“Not that that had, or has, any bearing on our relationship,” Dean muttered, scratching a hand through his crumpled hair.

At the word ‘relationship’, Castiel gave a (presumably involuntary) vocal squeak. All the lights in the street went out, and Sam jumped as he heard a muffled explosion.

His attention darted to the pet crematorium, which was on fire. Dean’s hand slammed into the horn of his car so hard that Sam thought he heard another explosion― Dean turned and yelled at Castiel, “CAS, STOP!”

Everything stopped, the car returned to level ground, the lights came back on, and the shop looked normal again. The smoke was only coming out of the chimney.

Dean panted, looking from the shop to the back seat of his car. He looked terrified. “Why, why did you do that?!”

Castiel was quiet.

Sam was so done with these two. He put his hands over his face and groaned.

Dean turned to the front of the car, slumping in his seat with his neck on the backrest, eyes closed. “Me and him were - and are - just friends. Okay? I didn’t think I’d need to revalidate that to you two douchewads, given I am, and always have been totally straight. Christ, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Sam couldn’t roll his eyes harder if he tried. He set his head against the glass on his side of the car and thumped his forehead on it until the nagging of _stupid Dean, stupid Cas, stupid denial, stupid stupid stupid_ faded a bit.

He heard a flap of angel wings: Cas was gone.

Dean’s hand on the steering wheel gripped so hard it made the wheel creak.

Sam expected some snippy line about how Cas deserved it, or how he shouldn’t have leapt to conclusions, or that actually Dean was kidding after all, but Dean said nothing.

When Sam lifted his head to look at him, Dean looked back, not hiding his upset.

Sam sat up properly, and slid the map out of Dean’s lap and into his own. “Go to the nearest motel. He’s not coming back tonight.”

Dean cranked the car into gear and did as Sam said, blinking away the tears in his eyes.


	5. Victims

This was the worst part of the job. And this was the worst of the worst, because it was just _kids_.

If he’d been here ten seconds earlier, they wouldn’t be building a pyre, preparing to strike matches and hold a funeral for children whose names Dean didn’t even know. Ten _seconds_.

Dean breathed in the fresh air of the pitch-black night, curling his fingers into his palms to keep them warm. Mist descended past his chest as he breathed out, head hung low. He didn’t want to look up.

“Dean, are you going to be okay?” Sam asked quietly. Dean could see his brother’s hands: he held a flashlight, the beam pointed at Dean’s stomach, and two matchbooks, both labelled with the name of the motel they were staying in, half an hour’s drive away.

Dean wanted to snatch a matchbook, strike the pyre, and leave this godforsaken moorland and leave it to burn. But he couldn’t. He owed it to the kids he failed to save, he owed them a real goodbye.

“I’m fine,” Dean said. His voice was uncooperative, too gruff and too raw in his throat.

Sam sighed. He didn’t say a word about how it wasn’t Dean’s fault, or that there was nothing he could have done. The end result was that they had bodies to burn.

All he could see in front of him was the wooden pyre, the one where the children were lain. The forest was spiky and tall, farther out; Dean could see the glow of a city on the horizon. The stars were bright, here.

The monster got its own pyre. There was no wood around it; Sam had suggested they torch it where it fell. It was too big to move, given it was over eight feet tall, muscle and hair all over. Dean didn’t know what kind of creature it was, but Sam had made a phone call, and now he gently mentioned to Dean, “It’s some sort of yeti. Mutated, maybe. I’ve sent pictures to Bobby, he’ll get back to me. I’m keeping hair samples too, but as soon as we’ve catalogued it, we’ll burn that too.”

Dean nodded, swallowing. He was barely paying attention.

“All right,” he breathed. “Let’s do it.”

Sam made to strike the first matchbook, but only moved his hands before Dean reached to take it from him. Sam let him take it.

Dean needed some time to pull himself together. His hands were shaking, even though he hid it well. He took out a match, pinching its thin shape between his finger and thumb. There was blood on his hands that he hadn’t realised was there; it must have transferred when he moved the children’s bodies. He saw it and felt sick.

As he struck the match, he wished that tonight could have gone differently. He wished he could change the past, he wished he could have known ten seconds earlier where to run, where to shoot.

But it was over now. He lit the whole matchbook, letting it catch fire, then threw it straight onto the pyre. The gasoline blazed alight with a _whoomph_ of sound and a flash of orange light, and all the chills that hung around Dean’s shoulders and face were blown away instantly. It started to feel too hot, but he didn’t move away.

He watched the little girl’s hair singe at the ends, and the skin on her face start to blister.

He watched the little boy’s fingernails fall off.

And he watched their youngest sibling devoured by the fire entirely, his body too small to see.

The smell of the air went from petroleum fumes to charcoal to burning flesh. When he could hear nothing but crackling and sizzling, Dean turned away. Cold hit his face and came as relief from the overwhelming heat, but every step he took across the damp, scrubby land, away from the pyre, he got colder, and more tears formed.

Sam didn’t come after him, and Dean was grateful for that.

He made it to the car, and set his forehead down on the ice-cold roof, his hands hooked on the upper rim of the doors. Tears were sleek and warm, but as they reached his wrists, they were sticky, and turned uncomfortably cold.

He heard another _whoomph_ , this time from Sam lighting the monster on fire too. Its hair would burn first, and then its flesh would begin to roast. Sam would keep pouring fuel on top of it to keep the fire going, and by morning, there would be nothing but charred bones. Then, they could leave - not before. Their job went beyond killing monsters. Far, far beyond.

When Dean heard a third _whoomph_ , he sniffed. He wasn’t sure what that one was.

He turned around, and the air seemed to leave the planet.

“Cas.”

Castiel was not smiling. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean swiped his own face to push away the tears, blinking hard. Through the watery, stinging blur in his eyes, he saw the adumbrate outline of fire, ghosting like a halo over Castiel’s head. Dean was glad to see him, but he couldn’t find a word to express that aloud.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, his voice less blunt than usual. He had a soft shine in his eyes.

Dean swallowed to get his voice pitched to normal. Letting out a breath that shook on his tongue, he wet his dry lips, then tried to explain. “I was... I was running to get to them. But I couldn’t see, it was too dark. Sam was too far away. And― And I saw it happen, the kids were... they were all together. Holding tight to each other, like I told them to do. And this thing, this yeti thing, it came up against them and just―” he swiped a clawed hand in front of him, “smashed them away.”

His lips trembled, and he clutched both hands to his face, trying to hide the new tears that escaped his eyes.

Castiel exhaled, not a sigh, but in sympathy and understanding.

Dean turned away, unwilling to let Castiel hear him sob. But he felt a hand on his shoulder, and had to look back.

Castiel shared his sadness; his eyes showed the remorse that Dean felt too. Maybe he was upset because Dean was crying; maybe he simply understood how it felt to fail these missions. But perhaps he also understood what it was like to feel guilt for losing someone he couldn’t save.

The hand on Dean’s shoulder slid lower, trailing down Dean’s leather jacket. Dean couldn’t feel the touch completely, but he wished he could. He wished Cas would step closer and pull him into a hug. Comfort was so easy to give to Dean, but Cas never knew how, since Dean never told him or showed him. Even in Purgatory, Cas hadn’t understood.

When those sliding fingers met Dean’s wrist, still wet with tears, Dean felt a rush of longing. Even if Cas wouldn’t take him in his arms, Dean might fall into them anyway.

But he didn’t, because Castiel spoke first.

“Take my hand, Dean,” he said.

Dean blinked. “What?”

Castiel offered Dean his hand, palm up. “Put your hand in mine. Take it.”

Even through the grief, Dean’s heart leapt. There were times in the past that their hands had met, but never before had Castiel asked Dean to hold onto him.

Dean needed what he offered, so he took his hand.

But it was not a touch for comfort.

The world around Dean burst with white light, and his free hand shot to his face to shield his eyes; it only lasted a moment, and then it fell away like a pulled cloth.

Somehow the moonless night was bright enough to see by. Dean saw that the stars were turning backwards, and the trees were shaking too fast to be caused by wind.

Dean looked at Castiel, who gazed at the changing scene around them with intent and grace, his face thoughtful.

“Cas,” Dean said. His voice came out blitzed, like a sound clip cut from a movie, shredded, and stuck back together with voids of silence in the gaps between each letter. Wind brushed Dean’s hair, a warm, soft tornado. He looked around, mouth open as his tears cleared: he saw the pyre he and Sam had built, he saw the children’s bodies set back where they had died.

The pyre unbuilt itself, a figure moving at an impossible speed picking up each log and returning it to the shed they had taken them from. Dean realised that was himself, an hour younger.

“Cas,” he said again. His voice was just as stilted as it had been before. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“Some things,” Castiel said, his voice reaching Dean’s ears unbroken, “can be altered.”

“You’re changing the past?”

“No,” Castiel smiled. His eyes slid to meet Dean’s, blue with light that came from nowhere. “I am creating a different future.”

“What about the other version?” Dean asked, gripping Castiel’s hand harder. “What about the other Sam, that Dean, those children?”

Castiel separated his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Their lives are already different.”

Dean took a step closer, putting his other hand over Castiel’s too, still holding tight. He watched the pyre empty to nothing, the ground blank. He watched the monster come back to life, and begin to walk backwards, its gigantic steps rewound.

He watched his previous self and Sam attempt to take down the creature, coming at it from both sides. Then he watched himself and Sam retreat, running away with their legs working in reverse.

He watched the monster unkill the children, leaving them huddled together on the moor in the dark, impossible to see in reality, but visible in the dim light that Castiel’s grace cast over the picture.

Dean’s heart pounded hard, recognising hope, seeing a chance to change his mistake. “This is it,” he said, tongue tripped by the abbreviated time. “This is where it went wrong.”

Castiel nodded once. “Come with me, and we’ll fix it. Don’t let go of my hand.”

“Okay.”

Time froze then, everything coming to an instant standstill. Dean heard his own breath from his mouth, sounding normal again, like he was back in reality. Only, there was nothing believable about this at all. If he wasn’t already aware of Castiel’s impossible abilities, he would have thought this was a dream.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Castiel said, as they walked across the shabby grass, heading for the monster. “I can see what happened. You did nothing wrong.”

“I should have been there,” Dean countered, shoulder brushing on Castiel’s. “I should’ve run faster.”

“You ran as fast as you could,” Castiel said. “You tried harder than usual, in fact. When there are children to save, you always try harder.”

Dean swallowed, lowering his chin.

Castiel was watching his face as they walked, halfway across the moor now. “You also feel it more, if you ever lose. You’re more hurt by the loss if there are children.”

Dean gulped hard. Castiel was right.

Castiel took a breath to say something else, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he squeezed Dean’s hand. Dean couldn’t hide his little smile. He liked holding Castiel’s hand.

Castiel was smiling too, Dean was aware of it even though he couldn’t see him clearly.

They made it to the beast, and Dean stood quietly, looking up at the monstrous figure that dominated his vision. Its teeth were long and sharp, its snout wrinkled apart in two halves. Its eyes were bugged and bubbled like blackberries, shiny like the eyes of insects. Paws the size of Dean’s head were raised out at its sides, balancing its body as it readied itself to strike the children.

Castiel allowed Dean a moment of study, both of them remaining stock-still, staring.

When Dean had processed the sight of the monster, calculating its weak points for if they ever came across something similar again, Castiel tugged on Dean’s hand.

“Now, Dean, step back.”

Dean looked behind him, and retreated a few steps, so he was between the children and the monster. Castiel stayed at his side, fingers curled around Dean’s.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked.

Dean let out a slow breath through pursed lips. He gathered up his courage, pulled out his gun, then nodded. “Do it.”

Darkness descended, the cloak of true night covering all sight. Dean heard the monster’s roar from feet in front of him, and he saw the distant flash of a light coming from where Sam was approaching. Dean’s previous self was nowhere, he was the only Dean here.

Dean fired at the looming mass of the creature, hand gripping Castiel’s harder than ever. He couldn’t see what the bullet hit, and he tried to fire again, but he was out of bullets, having fired them all earlier.

The monster was still alive, still roaring only feet in front of them. It was about to strike, and this time Dean and Cas were in the way.

The darkness ended, because Castiel raised his empty hand. Light flooded from his body, illuminating the beast before them with blue, a blue that glowed and radiated in pounding waves, like a tsunami. Power rushed, and boomed in Dean’s head like a sound he never heard but felt instead. His breath came quick and fearful, but he was not afraid, no. Not with Castiel’s hand in his.

The monster gave a dying howl, and fell over backwards.

Silence reigned, following the thump of the beast’s body hitting the ground. The soft whimpers of children met Dean’s ears, and he turned around, only seeing the shine of their wide eyes in the blackness.

They were alive. Dean rushed with relief and gladness, grinning widely.

Sam approached, yelling an attack call, but his flashlight lowered and his gun slumped as he realised Dean was standing in front of him. Sam panted, out of breath.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean smiled.

“H- Hey.”

Castiel was still holding Dean’s hand.

The children ran at Dean and grabbed his waist with grateful hugs, but he chuckled and wriggled them off. “Not me, it wasn’t me. This guy,” he said, pointing at Castiel. “This guy saved you.”

Castiel made a surprised noise as he found his middle wrapped up tight in the arms of three small humans. Dean didn’t let go of his hand, keeping him grounded.

When the kids fell back, giggling, Dean turned to Sam. “Guess we can toast the mutant yeti on a fire now, yeah?”

Sam squinted, eyes wrinkled up in the white of his flashlight. “How do you know it’s a yeti?”

Dean grinned, caught Castiel’s eye, then sniggered and looked away.

“Actually,” Castiel said, his voice exquisitely low, “I doubt you have need for a fire at all.”

Dean followed Castiel’s guiding hand, and the three men stood around the dead monster, looking down at its slack-jawed hairy face with its eyes burned out and hollowed with soot.

Castiel bent down and touched two fingers to the creature’s snout. Its whole body burst into sparkles, shining like glitter in moonlight. It fell to the grass, vanished, and the space was empty.

Sam chuckled. “Where did you zap it?”

“I sent it to the far reaches of the Tadpole Galaxy. In fifty thousand years the bacteria upon the body will have evolved into a new life form, and inhabited a small planet.”

Dean whistled a long, impressed note. “Damn, Cas, that’s one hell of a funeral package.”

Castiel smiled softly, proud but still humble. Dean’s heart felt smothered with warmth, which he allowed to translate into a squeeze on Castiel’s hand. Castiel gazed at Dean, something easy in his stance and his smile. Dean had missed being looked at like that.

Sam cleared his throat slowly. “Not to disrupt your moment, but there are three orphan kids out here who all need food and shelter.”

Dean blinked himself back into awareness, feeling the cold and the need to finish their mission. Because, of course, the mission went on now.

Hunting went beyond killing monsters. Far, far beyond.

● ● ●

Sam wasn’t going to say anything to them. Not a word. But, four hours later, it had become apparent that they really, really didn’t want to let go of each other’s hands. 


	6. Angel

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, for perhaps the eighth time that night.

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Stop saying that, would you? I know you’re sorry.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Castiel asked, sitting himself down at the graveside. His shoes scraped the base of it. It wasn’t very deep.

“Sorry is fine,” Dean said, grinning slightly. “But you don’t have to say it so much.”

“But I feel it so much.”

Dean chuckled, slinging another lot of dirt over his shoulder, making the shovel zing with sound. He sank the tip back into the grave, then rested his foot on it for a moment, raising his wrist to his face and scuffing sweat off his upper lip.

The trees over them swayed in the darkness, the breeze sweet but bitingly cold. Dean could smell the farmyard upwind of here, which only reminded him how far from civilisation they were.

With a deep, replenishing breath, he took the time to pause and recuperate. His back ached, his arms ached, his thighs ached, he was cold and tired and hungry, and he still had a lot of work ahead of him tonight. That was what Castiel was sorry about.

“Look,” Dean said, catching his breath at last, “I’m not blaming you. You saved my life.”

“But I could have reasoned with him,” Castiel insisted, curling over his legs, his eyes wide and pleading. “Everything could have gone differently.”

Dean pressed an accepting line between his lips. “Maybe. But some things can’t be changed. It happened the way it happened.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, wrapping his arms around his thighs, pushing his rolled shirtsleeves higher past his elbow. His bandaged hand was locked in a fist, still trying to keep pressure on it to prevent it from bleeding again.

“You did try,” Dean said, gently. He looked from Castiel’s wound to his face, but Cas didn’t look back. “You hurt yourself to get rid of him, and that counts for something.”

Castiel lifted his wrapped hand, gazing forlornly at the stain that darkened it. “I was too slow. You make those cuts all the time. I didn’t realise how much it would hurt.”

Dean sighed. “That’s humanity for you. Everything hurts.”

Castiel managed a small smile at that. Dean’s gaze lingered on his lips, glad that Castiel still smiled. Quietly, Castiel confessed, “Everything has hurt for years. But... inside.”

Dean felt sad, hearing that. “Sorry,” he said, which made Castiel smile wider.

Shaking his head, Dean got back to work. He grunted as he tossed dirt out of the grave, trying to even out the wonky ground under his shoes. He was splattered with mud up to his knees.

He looked forward to driving Cas back to their motel room, then taking as long as he needed to shower down while Cas slept. Cas would need medical attention first though... They might need to go to a hospital, since Dean didn’t have all the equipment he needed to care for him. Cas might even need antibiotics, otherwise the cut might get infected. That was another reason Dean wouldn’t let him dig graves: mud and blood together were a sure-fire way to end up sick.

“Dean?”

“Ya?”

“I... I want to thank you. For saving my life tonight.”

“You saved _me_.”

Castiel humphed, his eyes twinkling with starlight when Dean looked up. “I suppose we could safely say that we saved each other.”

Dean clucked his cheek and put renewed effort into digging. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They sank into silence again. Dean listened to the swish of the trees, and a rooster calling in the distance. All the other birds were snoozing, so Dean’s laboured grunting was the only other sound that met his ears. God, he was tired.

Sam was still at the bunker with Kevin, and if the two of them were as sensible as they claimed to be, they were both asleep. The thought of a nap made Dean’s body even wearier, and yet, he didn’t want to exchange a single minute of sleep for this time now: time he got to spend alone with Cas. Even though they weren’t talking, they shared a companionship that Dean still valued strongly after all these years.

Dean sighed and took another break, before realising he wasn’t going to have the energy to dig any more. He threw the shovel on the grass at the side, then heaved himself out of the three-foot grave, sitting with his thigh pressed to Castiel’s.

Dean let out a long breath. “I wanted to ask...”

“Hm?”

Dean smiled quickly, gaze rolling away as his shoulder pushed closer, friendly. “How’re you doing, Cas?”

Castiel turned his face towards Dean. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how are you? How’s life as a human? How are you coping with not being able to dig graves with a wiggle of your fingers, or beam a dead angel into space?”

Castiel listened to the question, and was silent for a little while. Then, he sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Dean repeated, weighing up the word.

Castiel nodded unsurely, looking down into the shadows of the grave, where plant roots and random layers of rocks crumbled at the walls.

“Are you sure that’s the right word?” Dean asked. “Because when I say I’m fine... I don’t always mean it.”

Castiel fiddled with the zipper on the ankle of his jogging pants, injured fist closing tighter. In staying silent, he was battling Dean’s offer to talk, but Dean was having none of it.

His hand slid closer, closing over Castiel’s fist. The bandage was wet at the sides, which Dean assumed was blood; he couldn’t see in the dark. Cas’ skin was smooth, warm; his knuckles were tender with missing skin, having punched an angel earlier tonight. Castiel hissed in pain when Dean stroked him.

Dean was careful; he pried open Castiel’s clenched fingers, making sure he relaxed. Castiel’s breath became ragged, and Dean soothed him softly, a hush on his breath. “Easy, Cas. I won’t hurt you.”

Castiel let him unravel the bandage, unwinding it only twice before it fell into Dean’s lap.

The cut on Castiel’s hand was jagged and rough. It bled less than before, but red wetness still shimmered and pooled where his hand lay flat.

“That’s pretty nasty,” Dean whispered in sympathy. “We’ll get you bandaged up, you’ll be okay.”

Castiel remained silent, letting Dean wrap the cut again. Dean’s fingers trailed on unbroken skin, soothing anywhere that didn’t hurt.

Castiel let out a fast breath when Dean pressed his fingers to the covered cut, putting pressure on it on Castiel’s behalf.

He liked touching Cas’ hands. He liked it more when Cas didn’t fight him, accepting it - sometimes he even touched back. It had been an important part of their time together over the past year, finding a quiet place and an empty time to sit together and hold tight. They didn’t know how else to tell each other how they felt; Castiel was as bad at saying things as Dean was.

“Come on,” Dean said invitingly, tapping Castiel on the side with the back of his arm. “Let’s get the body buried, then we can go.”

He held out his hand once he was standing up. Castiel took the guide with his uninjured hand, and Dean pulled him to his feet.

They wandered back to the car, their hands brushing at their hips. Dean purposefully clipped and bumped Castiel’s side, once or twice twining their fingers together and apart, wanting to do it again. It was thrilling, and each time, the reassuring squeeze Cas gave him let him know he wanted it too.

They grabbed the body out of the trunk. There was no sheet between the corpse and the car; Dean would clean up the blood later. Even mentioning the mess to Cas would make him feel guilty for not being able to fix it.

Taking the dead angel’s feet while Cas took him under his arms, they carried the body to the grave. Castiel was straining to stay upright, and his injured hand was clearly weak and uncomfortable, but thankfully they didn’t have far to travel.

“Just throw him in?” Dean asked, voice thinned by the effort of carrying such a weight.

Castiel would have suggested another option, but he was sweating and pale, which made Dean worry. They simultaneously gave up, and let the body fall straight into the shallow grave with a heavy, squishy _thump_.

Castiel looked away immediately, a hand to his face. Dean put his own hands in the dip of his lower back, easing his ache as he waited for Castiel to regain emotional control.

When Castiel looked back, his face was drawn, and he sniffed once, then nodded.

He took a complete breath, eyes turned to the sky beyond the bristling trees. “Father,” he said lowly, “please watch over my brother. Forgive him his trespasses and his unknowing wrongs, please give him the Heaven that deserves his light. Please give him, in death, good dreams of his life. Please keep him alive in memory, keep him alive in our hearts. Please let him watch down on us and believe we’ve done right.”

Dean swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat. Cas was not crying, but he had come over so solemn that Dean felt his inner pain, as it still showed on his face.

“Amen,” Dean said, needing to add something for the purpose of closure. “C’mon, buddy, let’s cover him up.”

Castiel nodded, shaking as he breathed out.

Castiel took the second shovel, which had gone unused until then. Together, they worked to fill in the hole.

Dirt slung from the shovels, out of sync but still creating rhythm. Their breaths came and went, their muscles burned as they shifted the piles of mud that lined one whole side of the grave. The trees over them creaked when the wind picked up, the breeze drying and chilling their sweat. They worked in silence, not stopping until it was done.

Dean straightened as Castiel tipped the final scoop of dirt onto the grave. Its level was higher than the ground, the dirt unpacked and loose. In the surroundings of night-time blue, the brown of the soil was too fresh. It looked strange.

Dean felt Castiel take his hand, the warmth of his body pressed to his side.

Dean turned his chin so he could look at the other man. Castiel’s face was dotted with sweat, a smear of mud on his cheek. There was blood on his lip, too, having cut it earlier. He looked at the grave, then he looked at Dean. Even in the tree-dappled shadows, his eyes shone. That hadn’t changed when he fell from grace; his eyes remained as angelic as before.

And yet, covered in blood and dirt and sweat and _pain_ , he looked so human. As human as Dean ever was.

Being human, Dean felt a desire. Cas was gazing at him with his dark, keen eyes. He shared the same desire. Gazing at his lips, into his eyes, then lingering on his lips once again. Wanting.

It wasn’t a good time. But with the lives they led, there was never any better time than _right now_.

Dean moved in slowly, slowly enough that Castiel had time to pull away. But he didn’t pull away.

Their lips met gently, with a soft press and the taste of copper, of the Earth, and salt. Dean felt Cas breathe out against him, and his stomach clenched up with satisfaction. It lasted a moment, two moments, three.

As Dean pulled away, he didn’t feel joy the way he thought he would when he first kissed Cas. But he did feel good.

Castiel’s bandaged hand cradled Dean’s jaw, a smile curving his lips.

“Yes,” Castiel said, his rough voice turned silky. “ _Now_ I’m fine.”

Dean’s lips broadened in a grin, and he ducked his head as complete elation then broke through him, arriving all at once. He laughed, resting his forehead on Castiel’s. Castiel kissed him again, and Dean smiled against him, arms pulling him close.

Their kiss broke, but their hug didn’t.

They held tight for much, much longer than they probably needed to. Their hearts started to beat in sync, which only made them hold on longer, feeling it and enjoying it.

When Castiel chuckled and pushed Dean away, Dean shoved him back - then, grinning, they chased each other to the car.

Castiel protected his injured hand until Dean caught up with him, and they carefully threaded their fingers together. Castiel didn’t resist it. He knew what the touch meant. He understood so much now, and Dean liked to believe that Cas learned it all by himself.

Dean didn’t care that Cas couldn’t help him the way he used to, lending magic to everything they did. He only cared that Cas was still here, that he didn’t leave. Hell, maybe Dean even preferred it this way. Cas couldn’t teleport someplace else now he was human, so he was stuck with Dean.

And he was tethered to digging graves by hand, and throwing bodies over bridges without magic, and having to accept that if a hunt went wrong and someone died, they would stay that way.

But if holding Dean’s hand like he was never letting go was any indication, Cas didn’t really mind. He’d find other ways to impress Dean, Dean was absolutely sure of it.

● ● ●

Castiel could not give his brother’s body the magical sendoff he properly deserved. That upset Castiel, but he didn’t realise what happened after he left.

Plants grew on the grave.

It wasn’t instant, it wasn’t drastic or sparkling. It took many, many years. But eventually, a tree spread its branches and joined its family looking up at the sun.

There was still magic in death. It was just a different kind.

**the end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if you don't feel like leaving a comment, hitting the "kudos" button goes a long way towards letting me know you liked the story.
> 
> Thank you for reading! May your 2014 be filled with many magical things.


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